


thy Godlike crime was to be kind

by somebraveapollo



Series: Before Red Cape And Foil [2]
Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Crucifixion, Healing, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebraveapollo/pseuds/somebraveapollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine days later, Nezumi found Shion tied to a cross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thy Godlike crime was to be kind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round Four of hc_bingo, prompt 'crucifixion'.

Captain Nezumi was ready to go down with his ship. Shion was beside him, and remarkably calm - Nezumi could never tell with him whether he was being brave or ignorant - and this was going to be a better death than he could ever have imagined.

“It’s been - “ he tried to say, but Shion kissed him, closed-mouth, and said:

“Don’t worry, they need me alive.“ 

Those were Shion’s last words, before he smiled and jumped off the deck, into the enemy’s battle nets. 

Nine days later, Nezumi found Shion tied to a cross.

He looked dead. He smelled dead, not yet decaying but stagnant for longer than a human should be. He was breathing in tiny, silent twitches, and his eyes were open and red. He did not recognise Nezumi as he approached. 

They had whipped him. The lines across his chest and his face were calculated to horrify, and Nezumi saw they had needed him alive, to use as an example. What he didn’t know was what else they’d done, to make Shion’s skin papery and his hair white.

As gently as he knew, Nezumi ran a hand over Shion’s hair. He’d killed every man on this ship, but there were other ships coming; he had to get Shion off of the cross. He would carry him to their cabin, and help him and so his debt would be paid.

The rough cord they had tied over his wrists was buried in his flesh. When Nezumi touched his palm, Shion buckled and started thrashing, and yelling incoherently through a hoarse throat.

“Can you hear me?” Nezumi asked. “I’m taking you home.”

Shion kept yelling and struggling, hurting his wrists further. Nezumi touched his forehead and felt a strong fever. He reached for his water flask - half-empty from dressing his own wounds - and pressed it against Shion’s lips, who struggled against it hysterically. They’d made him drink salt water. They were all dead, and Nezumi had nobody left to kill for this.

Forcing Shion to swallow took a while, but he slumped, at last, and Nezumi could work on untying him. His legs were tied more loosely, and Nezumi could untie the blood-and-urine soaked wire quickly. He had to use a knife for his wrists. When Shion say the blade, he started struggling again, so Nezumi did the only thing he could think of - started singing.

It wasn’t the soul-song he sang to dying dogs; it was a song of life, about spring and a fair maiden called Eve. He’d learned it when he was little, from the nameless old woman who’d taken him on her boat. He hadn’t sung it in years, but it came to him easily, and Shion went pliant immediately.

Nezumi freed the left wrist, then caught Shion’s slumping form and worked on the other. He couldn’t tell whether he’d injured him additionally. It didn’t, ultimately, matter. The wounds were already infected, pus streaming down slowly along with the fresh blood.

At last, all the ropes were taken care of, and he carried Shion in his arms, over the carcasses of the soldiers and sailors he’d killed. When Inukashi saw them, he stood frozen, then offered his help. Nezumi didn’t bother to answer him. He did not need his first mate right now. He needed a bed, and medicine.

When Shion was finally in their cabin, unconscious again, Nezumi cleaned all his cuts and washed away the grime. He he had done this for his crew before. He knew the wounds meant Shion was going to die, and he also knew he would never allow that.

He sang as he boiled the herbs he’d gathered in far-distant islands and had vowed never to use except to save himself. He sang as Shion threw up on him and begged him for mercy, still delirious, still afraid. He sang when Shion’s breathing stilled, then became, suddenly, deep and peaceful once more.

It took him nine days, he later heard, to make Shion wake up, as beautiful as ever but more delicate, his pupils dark but no longer bloodied. He sat up uncomprehensing, amid the blood-caked sheets, and looked at Nezumi:

“You look exhausted,” he said, “you need to sleep.”

“I should kill you for doing that,” Nezumi said, because it was true, and because he was too tired to say anything else.

“It saved you,” Shion shrugged. “And then you saved me. It all went according to plan.”

“I should kill you,” Nezumi said, and fell asleep, sitting on the bedside.

When he woke up, Shion had changed the sheets. Their cabin smelled nice again, of books and soup and seawater. Nezumi had to go check on his crew - go see how their war was progressing. But for a few moments, it was perhaps allowable to lie still and watch Shion cook, and hum, badly, the song Nezumi had given him.


End file.
